


Blink

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Chronic Illness, Cutting, Depression, Disease, Drowning, Drug Use, Drugs, Fire, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Overdose, Sad, Sad Ending, Suicide, haha a lot of sad stuff, im so sorry for writing this jkdhbuoNSAB, its literally just angst what did you expect, only angst, we're two idiots writing for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dom•i•no ef•fect;A domino effect or chain reaction is the cumulative effect produced when one event sets off a chain of similar events. The term is best known as a mechanical effect and is used as an analogy to a falling row of dominoes.What happens if one piece fell over unexpectedly?Would the pieces be too far apart for the others to fall?Or would the first push the next?Well, one had decided to push the first piece.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 84





	1. Losing Colour

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, this chapter was written mainly by my friend. A quick disclaimer, if you haven’t read the tags, this fic does include suicide. Please read at your own risk. All credit will be at the bottom notes.

George was tired.

He never asked to be here. He never asked to be born, to be birthed into a world full of pain. He streamed, he filmed, he laughed, he did anything to take his mind away from his constant ache. Yet it did close to nothing-no, it did nothing. 

Every day and every night, he regretted everything. He went to sleep raking at his arms with dull nails, leaving burning and swollen rows of self-loathing for him to wake up to. He slept with his closet open, hoping for a closet demon to creep up with its horrible claws and rip his life away from him.  
He always woke up tangled in his sheets from the fitful nightmares he had, breathing hard and in a pool of cold sweat.  
Occasionally, he would wake up at an ungodly hour, heaving with tears and sobbing from a faint nightmare he couldn't remember. He would never be able to sleep after that, fetching a glass of water and messing around on his computer until the sun rose and he had to prepare breakfast for him and his family.

Honestly, he was done with this life.

He loved his viewers dearly, he really did. He didn't know what they would do without him. But they had Dream and Sapnap and everyone else, right? It didn't make too much of a difference if he just slipped out and never came back, right? He was just a side character to the main story. He always had been. The story would go on, the quill would continue etching the words into paragraphs. 

As George entered his walk-in closet, he quietly padded in barefoot and silently closed the door. It locked with a soft click. He took a deep and shuddering breath, a rush of emotions sending static in his mind.

This is it.

The man stared dully at the coarse rope in his hands. It was rough to the touch, slivers and frayed strands raking across his soft skin and leaving white scratches and beads of crimson anywhere it touched. George had found the rope in his shed one day while cleaning it out. He didn’t know how or when he got it, yet it called out to him alluringly. Maybe it was a sign, subtly nudging him a clue that he wasn’t meant to be. A gift from whatever deities out there. It was meant to be, it was just the way things were laid out to be. 

George numbly looped the rope around itself, tightening it firmly and throwing it over the support beam in his closet. 

He took a shaky breath, eyes darting around the closet. Hues of yellow and blue, he had never been able to see the colors a normal person could. There was an entire world that he couldn’t see, so close but so far. At least now, he didn’t have to worry and be depressed anymore.

At least now, as long as he did it right, it would be painless.

At least now, all would be over in the blink of an eye, and he’d finally be happy. 

At least now, he would be at peace with the world.

At least….as long as he did it right.

He would finally be at peace with himself.

Closing his eyes, George stepped onto a plastic stool and slipped his head into the noose. He could feel everything so vividly but so numbly, like he was both here in his body and simultaneously light years away. The rope irritated his neck, rubbing up and around it and scratching his ears red and raw.  
George stared straight ahead of him, unseeing eyes focused on a piece of clothing with burning intensity. 

A prototype merch hoodie from Dream.

It was a lovely shade of green that he couldn't see. Smooth and pleasing to the touch on the outside, fluffy and lined with inviting fleece on the inside and in the pouch. Two uneven strings hung from the hood, resting on the playful smiley face of Dream's logo.

George could remember all the fun he had with his best friend. All the times they had shrieked and laughed and ran from Minecraft mobs.  
That time in the shocking video when Dream couldn't stop wheezing and laughing while George ran from all sorts of mobs. 

Those times George had hunted Dream, the Detective vs. Speedrunner videos, those survival streams, the countless giggles and laughs they had shared over the time they had known each other. 

How many memories had they made together? How many times had they got on call just to fall asleep to the other's voice? How many jokes had they exchanged?

But how many times did I annoy him? George asked himself bitterly. How many times did Dream cover up his irritation towards George? Was he mad that George wasn't skilled in anything, that he couldn't speedrun without help or cheats, and constantly relied on him to carry him?

George felt a pit yawn open in his gut, stomach dropping down further than the Marina Trench. Red-hot tears cascaded down his face, drowning his two toned vision in blurry and watery despair. 

George harshly tightened the noose, choking out a cough and preparing his shaky legs to kick the stool from beneath him.

'Nobody will miss you,' His mind whispered to him.  
'They can do without you.'  
'You have a bland and common personality, they can replace you in an instant.'  
'You're just a nuisance.'  
His thoughts picked up into a roaring storm of voices. 

George listened wholeheartedly to them.

Taking a deep breath, he loosened his fists at his sides and ignored the miserable pit in his gut. He felt light, like he could fly. The only thing holding him back was the stool.

George pushed off the plastic stool, smiling a teary and life-weary smile. 

3.

He was ready to leave this world, to be finally free. 

2.

He could faintly feel the wind rushing past him as he dropped towards the floor, rope ready to tighten and snap his neck.

1.

George closed his eyes.


	2. Burning Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second domino has fallen.

"-thank you Sandra! Today's Breaking news: A public figure, YouTuber, and video game streamer has been discovered dead in his house! Youtuber GeorgeNotFound, known for his Minecraft videos and collaborations with other Youtubers such as 'Dream' and 'BadBoyHalo' was found Saturday at approximately 12:30 P.M.! His parents had gotten back from a business trip to find their son's body hanging in the closet from a successful suicide by noose!"  
"That's awful, Evan! I can't imagin-"

Click.

"No no no no no, this can't be happening….this is all a nightmare, me….C'mon, I gotta wake up…"   
Muttered Sapnap. 

Nick, also known online as popular content creator Sapnap, was crumpled in a ball on his couch. Snacks and candy dusted the floor and table decor was broken on the floor off the coffee table, showing signs of being recently thrown. 

He had just finished his Disney marathon and was watching a bit of news to catch up with the world before taking a nap, only to find out that while he had cooed over precious large-eyed Bambi and Cinderella's sparkling baby blue dress, one of his best friends had gone through unimaginable agony and emotional pain severe enough to make him take his own life just to make it stop.

Burning tears streamed down his face, the normally peaceful and friendly expression contorted into a painful grimace and stuck in a scream. His best friend that he had known for six years had just taken his life. His best friend, the one he had laughed so much with and made so many memories with, had just killed himself.

How long had George carried that burden? Why didn’t he ever tell him, or Dream, or anyone? Did he not trust them?

Did George not trust….him?

What was he supposed to do now? Would he continue recording, holding the bottled up emotion inside of him forever? Or would he join George, where he could be at peace? 

Hic.

Sapnap quietly curled up, crying too hard to comprehend his surroundings as he sobbed. A scream of agony and pain and grief and so many more emotions was stuck in his throat, unable to rip its way out of his throat and corking up even more emotions. His vision blurred, fuzzing out from the swimming dots of spilled candy wrappers and the whirlwind of raw feelings behind his eyelids, black as tar and pulling him in and swallowing him in a thick and suffocating pool.

What was his next step….?

It was obvious

Dream could continue recording, he had an amazing personality and was sure to be able to make more friends. Bad had his trio and so many other people to laugh with What was there to live for anymore? It would never be the same again. Not without George. 

Not without his best friend.

The times when he and George fought, oh how Sapnap wished he could hear his dead friend's annoyed voice one more time. To apologize for all the things he said and to ask George if he was alright and fly over and coddle the suffering man. George's cheerful laugh, his little giggles when he was embarrassed, the way he screamed when Dream chased them maniacally during manhunts, he would never hear again. George was gone. It would never be the same. 

He had failed as a friend. He had failed to help in George’s time of need. He had ignored it all for his benefit. It was his fault George died. He was being selfish. 

He should be punished. 

Sapnap picked up a photo of when they had first met up, staring at George's face, guilt churning in his stomach. He was the reason they weren’t around anymore. There was only himself to blame for this. Sapnap's eyebrows furrowed as tears continued to stream down his face, his face contorting into a pained grimace as he stifled a sob.

With all the raw emotion he possessed at that moment, he recklessly threw the photograph onto the ground, shattering the glass. The crash echoed in his ears, bouncing around his head as the glass shards spilled everywhere and cut his exposed legs. Ruby red trickled down his legs in small rivulets, pooling around his feet and soaking into the corners of the photograph.

Of course he wasn’t angry at George. He could never be. Even when they fought, he could only stay mad at the other for a short amount of time before they both burst into a fit of giggles. He wished so badly they could go back to those simpler times. Though now, when he looked back on their banter, he wondered duly if George had taken them to heart instead of letting them bounce off like they were meant to. Their friendly banter being not-so-friendly after all, and instead deadly thorns that had ripped George apart.

He stared at the happy photograph, now stained with his blood. The glass lay atop the picture, shattered and sparkling from a mixture of blood and the static of the TV. The glass had tore into it, pressing cuts and rips into the smiling men.

It was broken. 

Just like him. 

Sapnap picked up the photo, ignoring the glass shards that bit into his skin, numbly staring at the faces with tear-flooded eyes before crumpling it harshly into a tight ball. The suffering would end soon. Was this what George had felt before he ended his life? It hurt so bad. It felt like a million dull knives were slowly digging out his chest, climbing into his throat and drawing raspy and painful breaths from his chest. He would just need to wait it out a bit longer. 

Hang on, Georgy. I'll be there for you, buddy.

He stumbled into his kitchen   
on unsteady feet where he rifled through the drawers, returning a small box of matches buried behind a box of sandwich baggies and cookie cutters. This would do. He pocketed them, taking jittery breaths and clutching the crushed photograph. 

Leaning on the countertop for a moment, Sapnap paused for a moment as he fought with himself.

Wait...do I really want to do this? How about Dream, and Bad, and my family, and-  
He cut himself short as his thoughts from earlier set back over him in a smoky haze.

They can do without you. They don't need a useless filler teammate who just pushes people to kill themselves.

Pushing past the door into the garage, he picked up a gasoline can and poured it around him in a circle. He vaguely noticed how there was a trail of drying crimson leading from the living room, obviously from the multiple deep cuts that the glass had sliced into him. He ignored it with a shaky breath and brung up a sleeve to wipe his ever-flowing tears and continued pouring the flammable translucent liquid around his garage. 

Eventually, the room was covered in criss cross lines of gasoline. The door to his house was open, lines of gasoline also leading into his house. He had used up several cans, scrounging up all the fuel there was in his house and pulling jerry cans from the deepest corners of his work bench. Said containers were piled in a corner, ready for their impending doom.

Sapnap took out a red tipped matchstick with trembling hands, and without a second thought, struck it against the box a few times, before it finally lit on fire.  
The gorgeous orange flame danced on the tip, crawling down the stick in a dance of heat and char. Sapnap stared at it, entranced, before slowly loosening his grasp on it and dropping it into the gas around his feet.

Instantaneously, roaring flames sprung to life and flew across the gasoline, fumes already starting to rise and smoke coming from multiple burning thingamajigs. His sprinklers were disabled and his alarms were too, he wasn't stupid. Nobody was going to deny him the luxury of seeing his best friend.

He took in a shallow breath as he crumpled to his knees, the rush of all the events combined with the toxic fumes finally crashing down on him. Red-hot tongues of flame licked at him, painting burns wherever they touched. It was agonizing, but somehow so empowering.

Sapnap uncrumpled the picture clutched in his left hand and looked at it one last time, smiling wistfully at it before throwing it into the flame, watching the stained edges crumple in the heat.

He would end up like the picture. Swallowed by the flames. 

This was the best ending he could ever have. An eye for an eye as they say. This was his punishment.

And with one last tear rolling down his face with a small smile as the ring of fire creeped closer and the fumes crouched lower, Sapnap thought back to all his best memories. With friends, family, strangers, the Dream Team…

Sapnap thought back and smiled. It would be over now, and he didn't have to worry anymore.

I'm coming, George. See you soon, old pal.

Sapnap closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHERRY IS TOO GOOD AT WRITNG WTH I WROTE LIKE HALF OF IT MOSTLY FOR PLOT AND THEY WROTE THE SAD STUFF I NEED TO UP MY GAME HERE
> 
> Also sorry for the late uploads, we're currently busy with other stuff D: 
> 
> We'll draft another chapter as soon as possible!!


	3. There's A Reason London Puts Barriers on the Rails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry for the late update lol 
> 
> We're still alive

Wilbur Soot sat at his apartment window, chin perched on his left hand and eyes pointed at the sky. Nothing was left in this world for him. Days repeated in an agonizing routine. Nothing was spontaneous or out of context. Wake up. Dress casually in a button up and a light coat. Record a couple videos, do some paperwork at his studio office. Come back home and lay in bed for hours until dinner, then going to sleep at 3. Rinse and repeat. 

What else was there to do when everything was bland? Life was meaningless. What was the use of being there only to suffer. Was it the world's way of telling him he should have never lived in the first place? Or was it more? He didn't know. 

The musician stared out of his window, watching the clouds lazily drift by. The sun setting, the puffy clouds hugging the horizon in pinks and oranges, a sight to behold to the average eye. However like everything in life, the beauty was never permanent. Thick smog would reach back up in the bright and early mornings with its grimy hands to blot out the hues of blue. Only grey. Nothing more. 

Wilbur really would have cherished these moments where he could be by himself for the most part, yet he felt oddly lonely. Of course he had his friends and other people there, also making the decision to live by himself, yet the feeling of loneliness creeped up on him day by day. 

Wilbur inhaled deeply, taking in as much air as he could, before tearing his gaze away from the window with a sharp exhale. His lonely apartment, which he had ranted on and on about being cramped and claustrophobic, was now overwhelmingly barren and vast. 

Wilbur pushed up from his window perch to sit on the grey couch and turned on the TV. He knew he wouldn't actually watch it, but the background noise of chatter was enough to numb his mind of his suddenly suffocating thoughts. He spaced out, cutting his mind loose to float freely among the stars only to be brought back to reality by a phone ring. 

It's….Dream?

The guitarist stared at the caller ID until the third ring before he picked up. 

He's crying. 

His friends were dead. 

Wilbur stared unseeingly at his TV with a blank expression.  
He...didn't feel anything. No pity had built itself in his stomach. No guilt swelling in his throat the way it should. Instead, he continued to look at the TV with dull tawny eyes, the last bit of life fading. As he hear the agonizing grief-stricken cries of his friend, the world faded to grey around him. This wasn't a game of tycoons and RPG tales and complex storylines, no. This was a game with one simple goal. To beat the game, quick and simple. 

Wilbur was an apathetic person, now more than anything. An empty shell of a person. A husk of the man he once used to be. 

A wave of cold clarity washed over Wilbur. The fluffy haired man let it happen. The feeling of emptiness residing in him yawned open, and for once Wilbur didn't fight against its pull. 

The call had ended a while ago. Wilbur still stood there, eyes unmoving from the spot they were at hours ago. Colors were warping and dancing from staring at the flashing headlines for so long. The time was getting late. He knew this, of course.  
Wilbur walked himself into his bedroom, yet he didn't sleep that night. Thoughts all clouding his head. His vision went blurry, the restless nights finally catching up to him. 

The last thought that crossed his mind before passing out, was the one he remembered the clearest that night. 

I'm sorry, but world, I'm leaving. I'm no good for anyone here.

The morning came and he awoke from a dreamless night to the blaring of his alarm clock. The events of last night crashing into his head as he arose from his sleeping position. 

His vision blurry, grabbing his glasses, Wilbur looked at his phone. The alarm was still blaring. He carried on with his routine, yet only one thought crossed his mind as he went about his day. The thought only grew louder as the day progressed, until he was there. 

A train due to arrive within a few minutes. He looked at his guitar with his lifeless eyes and ran his hand along it. He loved it. It was the only thing he didn't feel numb to. Music would always hold a special place in his heart. Thought he paused, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He sent a quick ‘goodbye’ into the group chat he was in with his friends, and shut it off, ignoring the dings as to what the message had meant, and tossed the phone aside.

He gripped onto the string instrument, tending his shoulders as he heard loud rumbles beneath the earth growing louder and louder as the train crept closer. No more emptiness, he would feel again. That was all he wanted. The smell of happiness only a mere few steps away. Wilbur desperately wanted it. He chased after it. The longing for warmth, to leave the cruel world. His wish would finally come true. It was only a few steps away. He would get his happiness and he would finally be free. The world dragged him down, this was the only escape. 

He ran towards the tracks, the guitar he held so dearly to his heart in his hands. People would say he was selfish for only thinking about himself at the time, but what was there to lose when you had all you wanted? The loud horn of the oncoming train grew louder and louder as he made his final decision. There was no going back, and he loved it.

Just a few steps more. 

He would be free from this hellish nightmare and into a spot he would find peace. He smiled, a genuine smile carrying the pain and suffering he had gone through just to achieve his goal. His heartbeat sped up as he took in a deep breath of air. He jumped, awaiting the impact. And as the train neared,

he closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this chapter didn’t damage you too much. Also, please keep in mind, we both don’t have depression (or other mental illnesses), so our depictions may be incorrect. 
> 
> Cherry’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/angstiie?s=21
> 
> Cherry’s Instagram (they post art!): https://instagram.com/angstiie?igshid=1jmqouuioef5r


End file.
